


Victory

by conceptofzero



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-16
Updated: 2011-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-24 16:14:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/265446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conceptofzero/pseuds/conceptofzero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skaia burns, and the Black Queen laughs, her voice filled with a delight she has never before felt. The Battlefield is gone, demolished by the meteors, and all of Derse shines with a light the dark planet has never before known, the shadows all burnt away from the fiery star in their dark skies. They have won, truly won, and there is nothing more wonderful than absolute victory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Victory

Skaia burns, and the Black Queen laughs, her voice filled with a delight she has never before felt. The Battlefield is gone, demolished by the meteors, and all of Derse shines with a light the dark planet has never before known, the shadows all burnt away from the fiery star in their dark skies. They have won, truly won, and there is nothing more wonderful than absolute victory.

She watches from the balcony in their chambers, eyes fixed on the red light. Below, the streets are full of celebrating citizens, and the endless boom of drums fill the night. The eight orbs above the tower tops have all gone grey with the death of the last player, and the ring on her finger is dark as well. Her body is her own again, no claws or frills or extra limbs, just her body as it was when she first awoke.

The Queen is waiting. Her husband's ship returned from the Battlefield just half an hour ago. There are words that must be said, hands to shake and generals to congratulate, things she has done but now he must do. She could go downstairs to meet him, but it would be agony to share him with so many others. He will come to her, and when he does, he will be hers alone and she won't have to share him with anyone, not as she has their entire lives.

Prospit glows like a second star in the sky, and she smiles to think of their loss. Already most of the citizens have fled into exile. Let them. The heat from Skaia will no longer be warm and gentle, but a burning inferno that will melt their city, boil them all alive. She feels no pity for Prospit. How long did they languish in the light of the sun, with their larders overflowing and their people content and lazy? How long did Derse circle the dark, waiting desperately for the day when they would be free of the endless cold, the constant hunger?

Their time has come, and she feels nothing but triumph at having proven their worth.

The doors to the chambers open and she takes one last look at the burning star before leaving the balcony and walking into their living chambers.

Her husband stands at the door, dressed in his finest purple robes. He still carries the injuries he sustained in battle; the long crack down the side of his head, the shallow wound on his chest, and the place where his left thumb should be but no longer is. The Black King smiles at her, tired and jubilant, and she returns it as she walks to him.

His hands grasp at her waist and she throws her arms around his neck, embracing him, "Darling," She whispers, and he squeezes her tightly, "You were magnificent."

"And you," He brings his mouth up to hers, and the faint copper taste of old blood overwhelms her senses. The King is wearing far too many layers, and so is she. But there are other things to concern herself with first.

She draws back, taking hold of his left hand and touching the place where his thumb should be. The player's weapons have seared the flesh beneath so it no longer bleeds. She presses her lips to it, "My poor darling, look what they've done to you."

"It's nothing, just a digit, not even the most important one. I won't miss it at all," He assures her, resting his other hand on her head, "They're only flesh wounds."

"Your Majesty, Highness," The Royal Guardsman reminds them that they are not alone, not yet, "Celebration dinner is in two hours."

"Cancel it," The King says, then adds, "No, don't cancel it. Inform them that we will not be attending."

"Darling," The Queen chides him, turning her attention to the Royal Guardsman, "We shall simply make a late entrance. Keep them well fed and occupied. Do not let the generals make too many speeches, you know how they go on."

The Royal Guardsman seems embarrassed but he nods, "Yes, of course."

The Queen strokes a hand over the King's features, not bothering to look at the Guardsman, "You are dismissed. Lock the door when you leave."

"Your Highness. Your Majesty," He says, but she barely hears a word from him. She's too busy looking at the King, his own sharp white eyes fixed on her. When they hear the door fall shut, they move again, kissing one another frantically. Decorum is tossed aside as he lifts her in his arms, carrying her to the bedroom.

"I plan to see you so well fucked that you can't walk," The King informs her, and she laughs, even as he sets her on the bed and kneels above her. His hands seek out the clasps on her dress, and she does the same with his clothing, unclasping what can be unclasped, and yanking the rest over his head. Her dress is discarded on the floor, and as she fights to get his tunic off, he presses one hand between her thighs and slides a finger inside of her. The King's face changes from greedy to shocked, and back to greedy again, "How long?"

"You know how long," She's been wet since the moment he killed the first player, and now, with his finger brushing against her clit, she's about ready to die with want. The Queen finishes pulling the tunic off, tearing the fabric so he doesn't have to move his hand. It's easy to lift one leg and brush a thigh against his hardness, "And you?"

"When I saw you watching the battle," The King rubs his finger against hers, and she does the same with her thigh, watching the blood pool beneath the dark black shell of his face, "I wanted nothing so badly as to take you then and there on the battlefield, while the meteors rained down among us."

"Poetic, but perhaps a bit unwise," She presses her hands against his chest, tracing the fresh wounds and marks the clothing covered. It hurts a little to see him wounded so, but more than that, she feels proud. These are battle scars, wounds that mark out how brave and fierce he was, "But here... your victory is complete."

"Our victory," He reminds her, and the Queen smiles, wrapping her arms around his neck. She loves him so much, and she spreads her thighs, inviting him to claim her. The King settles himself fully overtop of her, his cock nudging against her entrance. The Queen refuses to wait. She wraps her legs around his waist and pulls him close.

"Ah-" The sound escapes without her permission as he slides into her, and though she's felt him before, it's been so long that the sensation is almost new again. She feels good, full, whole again. The King must feel the same way because his eyes fall shut, and she watches as he fights to get a hold of himself. The Black Queen kisses his lips until his eyes open again, and then she shoves her hips up against his, "My love."

"And mine," The King thrusts down, setting a rhythm that suits them both. Her knees press against his sides, and her breasts against his chest. He's heavy, but the weight is good, it's welcome after so long without it, so many days spent by herself in this empty bed. Her mouth meets his again and again, and they kiss with an intensity that she can't remember having felt before. The King speaks to her softly, "I missed you so badly. I longed for this, for you."

"So did I," She confesses, letting him hear the tenderness she shows no one else. The Queen has been so wet for so many hours, not letting her fingers wander below her waist, and all the anticipation has put her on edge. Each thrust is sweeter for it, and her clit throbs, desperately wanting more than just indirect friction. She pushes it aside, knowing this will be better if she doesn't come immediately. Waiting is good for her sometimes, particularly when she is denied nothing else in her life, "I thought of you so often. Anywhere I went, you were on my mind."

"Was I on your mind in here?" He asks, his voice low and deep and she shivers with delight. The King's hips quicken, and one hand moves from the bed, pressing between them to cover a breast. His fingers rub against a nipple and she spreads her thighs as wide as she can, wanting him deeper, "Did you touch yourself when you thought of me?"

"Yes," The Queen moans, drinking in the pleased flush on the King's face, "I watched you on the Battlefield with three fingers inside of me."

"Darling-" He chokes softly, and his hands tighten. The King's thrusts grow ever faster, ever deeper, and part of her whines madly as her orgasm builds so slowly. He squeezes her breast, and she lets her hands wander across him, seeking out whatever flesh she can find.

"Every afternoon, I would excuse myself and come here," She whispers into his ear, and every word sends his shaft into her ever deeper. He can't last much longer, and she's close but not there herself, but right now, she's too focused on the King, on seeing him fall apart for her, "I would turn on my screen and bring you up. I would lie on the bed and dream that you were here with me, that it was your hands on me, your fingers inside of me, your cock inside of me. I would spend hours wishing it was you between my thighs, buried deep in my-"

That's enough, that's more than enough when they've been apart for so long. The King comes with a mighty sound, and she holds tight to his shaking form. He groans, still buried deep within her, and she bites her bottom lip as he fills her in more ways than one. The flush of warmth within her is too much, and she feels caught on the knife's edge of pleasure, so close to coming that it's torture. He is heavy on her when he finally finishes, and she is still so desperate to come that she ruts against him.

"So sorry," He apologizes as he pulls out, and his right hand takes the place of his shaft. Two large fingers slip into her and his thumb grinds down against her clit. The thrusting fingers are good, but the focus of his thumb makes her grab onto the bedsheets and arch her back as the constant background buzz of want focuses sharply and hits her with a wall of pleasure.

The Queen cries out, and he kisses the corner of her mouth, hand going still within her but not withdrawing. His thumb stays hard against her clit as her body twitches with pleasure, until she finally has to put her hands on his and push, "E-enough. Apology accepted."

His hand withdraws, and she feels empty, but not like before. She's been sated, for the moment, and she knows that the next time will come soon, very soon. The King lies beside her, settling his hand across her stomach. He kisses her most softly, resting his forehead against the side of hers, "My love, I never want to be parted again."

"We won't be," She smiles because the words are true. They've won. Skaia burns. There is no one left to oppose them or their kingdom, and no reason for him to ever leave her side again. Her body is tender when she raises herself up and rests against his chest, "You'll never be rid of me. And I'll never be rid of you."

"Let's never leave our bed again," His hand comes to rest on the curve of her backside, "We'll give orders from the walls, and the servants can bring us meals, and I'll spend the rest of my days between your thighs."

"Tempting," The Queen leans up, kissing her husband softly on the mouth. It is very tempting. There are few things she would enjoy more than having him within arm's reach at all times. But she also knows that her time with him is always sweetest when they've been apart, "There's a lot to be done. And I'd rather not have ministers calling when we're in bed."

The King sighs, soft and regretful, squeezing her gently, "Will I never be free of this burden? Haven't I won them a war? Is that not enough?"

"It's enough," She promises, settling her hands on his chest. Her fingers seek out his wounds, and she gently presses her lips against each one, as if perhaps the touch will heal them, "But you would grow bored after three days in bed. You need a challenge. And you need a reason to miss me."

"Perhaps you're right about the challenges," He smiles at her, and her heart skips a beat, "But I'll never need a reason to miss you. Being apart is reason enough."

"You sentimental fool," The Queen says, and there's nothing but warm emotion in her words. She kisses him again, laying flush against his chest and waiting for him to recuperate. They have a few hours before the dinner begins. She plans to hold him to his promises, even if it means he'll have to carry her in his arms.

Especially if he means he'll have to carry her.


End file.
